


Simulacra

by ursweetheartless



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, B.A.R.F. | Binarily Augmented Retro Framing, Fantasy, M/M, Misuse of technology, Not Beta Read, Rough Oral Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursweetheartless/pseuds/ursweetheartless
Summary: Tony had shown Bucky how to use the ridiculously named device — they were all grownups, he wasnotcalling the thing B.A.R.F — to help remove the trigger words. His therapist had suggested that it could be used to work through some other things, since it had worked well so far. He still visited the machine once a week, where Tony had locked it up in the basement of the compound. He wasn't really working through his past anymore though, even if that was the excuse he used. He got away with it because Tony was entirely too kind, and because Tony didn't seem to want to look at him for too long or think about him too often.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	Simulacra

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I want to write something sweet and short and fluffy, because stress.  
> Also Me: *writes this instead*
> 
> oops?

Tony had shown Bucky how to use the ridiculously named device — they were all grownups, he was _not_ calling the thing B.A.R.F — to help remove the trigger words. More accurately, it had helped alter the memories the words were built on, until the places that they were anchored into him didn't hurt anymore. The little castle of pain that had forced his conscious mind to retreat and the Soldier to come forwards and take over was gone now. Bucky didn't feel healed, but he wasn't as broken anymore either so that was something. 

His therapist had suggested that it could be used to work through some other things, since it had worked well so far. He couldn't actually go back in time and fix what he'd done, but he could still trick his mind into thinking that he could. He knew it wasn't real, but as long as he was also working on making amends in the real world, the glasses were a useful tool to make him feel better about the terrible and unforgivable things he'd done. 

He still visited the machine once a week, where Tony had locked it up in the basement of the compound. He wasn't really working through his past anymore though, even if that was the excuse he used. He got away with it because Tony was entirely too kind, and because Tony didn't seem to want to look at him for too long or think about him too often. That was fair, and probably the most Bucky could realistically expect from someone who was as much a victim of the Winter Soldier as any of the innocent people he'd murdered. Friday monitored him peripherally. If nothing _bad_ happened, she'd delete the data she collected on the session after 24 hours. Friday was kind, but obviously naive. That's the only reason Bucky had been getting away with this for so long. 

  


* * *

  


Bucky slips the glasses on and settles into the memory. The compound’s communal kitchen flickers up around him. It’s empty and quiet, the middle of the night, and Bucky can feel the twitchy, unsettled edges of the nightmare he’d just woken up from. That was what had driven him downstairs. 

Bucky was standing at the stove, staring blankly at the kettle like that would make it boil faster. The sound behind him doesn’t startle him anymore. 

( _In the memory, the real one, he’d flinched. Bucky had jumped, and stumbled, and fallen into a defensive crouch with his back pressed against the cabinets._ ) 

Tony smiles at him from the doorway, his ridiculously expensive and probably one of a kind suit rumpled in places, the jacket gone somewhere and the sleeves rolled up to just beyond his elbows. Bucky turns the kettle off and turns to face him, eyes downcast respectfully. 

(He hadn’t remembered the kettle. The kettle had screamed when it boiled, minutes later, and Bucky had flinched at that too, hard enough that he broke a cabinet door with his skull. Tony had insisted on taking him to medical afterward.) 

“Hey, Murder Bot! How's everything going this evening? You look like shit, by the way.” Tony calls out, sharp and biting, as he pushes past Bucky to get to the coffee maker. 

( _Hey Terminator, you doing okay?” Tony had asked when he crouched down beside him. It was uncomfortable and stiff, but he’d been trying._ ) 

Bucky’s hand twitches. He wants to reach out, but that isn’t how this is done. Instead, he drops to his knees. He doesn’t climb down slowly, he just lets himself drop, and feels the crack of pain as he hits the hard tiles of the kitchen floor. 

Tony makes a bored noise, turning around with his coffee in hand to look at him. He’s somewhere between amused and disgusted. 

( _Hey, you okay down there? Seriously, do you want me to call someone? Get you something?”_ ) 

Bucky keeps his head down, like he’s supposed to. His eyes are focused on the floor, where the tiles meet the cabinets. He stays absolutely still. It’s a skill he holds on to — from the Asset, the Soldier — willingly. 

( _Come on, Buckaroo. Seriously, get up, this is awkward, ok? You’ll give me ideas down there, and I have plenty of this on my own. God, sorry, that was creepy and rude. Just, get up please._ ) 

He listens carefully, as Tony sips his coffee, watching Bucky carefully. Bucky just… stays still, arms down at his sides, eyes down on the floor. He’s relaxed, one hip resting comfortably against the counter as he thinks. Bucky doesn’t look up, doesn’t even take a peek, he just _knows_. And he waits. 

Tony drains the mug and sets it on the counter with a sharp tap. He doesn’t slam it, but the noise is still loud in the silent kitchen. Bucky relaxes, because Tony steps forwards and finally — _finally_ — slides a hand into his hair. 

_I’m sorry,_ Bucky doesn’t say, _is there anything I can do to make it up to you?_ he doesn’t ask. 

Tony tilts Bucky’s head up and studies his face. Tony’s face is blank, not angry but not happy either. 

The slap is a surprise when it comes. Bucky knew it was going to happen, but it still shocks him every time. It’s not hard enough to really hurt him, but it is enough to sting, enough to snap his head to the side. It was grounding. 

Tony cups his palm over the stinging skin of Bucky’s cheek and slides a thumb over the edge of Bucky’s mouth, then the swell of his lower lip. 

“Open up,” Tony says, through not quite clenched cheeks, and Bucky does as he’s told. Tony’s thumb tastes like coffee and steel and something clean and unpleasant, like soap. Bucky flicks his tongue over it, soft and wet. It’s an invitation, and Tony makes a strangled almost noise in response. 

“Fuck, Winter Wonderland, give me your hand.” Tony grits out, teeth together. Bucky wants to use the flesh hand. He can feel better with the flesh hand. That’s not what Tony wants, it never is, so Bucky raises the metal hand instead. 

Tony slides his fingers over the plates, along the seams and ridges on the back of it. Bucky doesn’t have as much sensation in the metal arm, even the new one from Wakanda, but the sensation of Tony’s feather-light touches across it is still maddening, like static on his nerve endings, the pressure sensors not quite activating. 

Tony turns the hand around, like Bucky is a doll or a tool, and molds the palm of it to the front of his pants. Bucky can feel well enough to know that Tony is hard, well enough to tell the shape of it. As always, that sends a thrill of anticipation through Bucky. It feels like an _achievement_. Tony holds the hand in place and rolls his hips against it twice — two stuttering thrusts — before he lets go. Bucky holds the hand in place on his own, because he wants to be good. He waits patiently. It only takes a few moments. 

“If you want it, you’re going to have to go get it, Barnes. You’ll have to show me how much you want it.” Tony says, offhandedly. Bucky goes to work immediately. He fumbles with the delicate shell button on Tony’s fly, fingers too thick and clumsy right now. He flinches when the button pops off, thread broken, and bounces across the floor. Tony makes a disbelieving noise. 

“You’re not good for anything, are you?” Tony says, tone harsh, voice not quite his. Bucky tries to focus, to bring this back. “You can’t get anything right. I should have known by now.” Tony pushes him back, and Bucky almost falls but he catches himself so he can watch. Tony opens his pants the rest of the way and pulls out his cock. It’s dark and full, almost angry, and the low light makes it look dew damp. Bucky _wants_ it, but he doesn’t move. 

“I have to do everything around here.” Tony bites out and grabs the side of Bucky’s neck to pull him back in. He levers Bucky’s mouth open with his other hand, harsher then he needs to be, pressing his thumb into the hinge of Bucky’s jaw. “You just keep your teeth off of me, or you’ll regret it.” 

That’s all the warning he gets, but Bucky knows what’s coming and he’s ready. He manages a good, deep breath before Tony pushes in, and keeps going until he’s buried all the way to the root. The tip of his cock is in Bucky’s throat, and he chokes on the first thrust. His eyes are watering at the intrusion and the sharp tug of Tony’s fingers buried in his hair. It’s an autonomic response, his body reacting without his brain. He curls his flesh hand around Tony’s hip for balance but doesn’t try to direct the onslaught. He cedes control, because fighting this was a futile exercise. 

Tony never falls into any real rhythm, hips stuttering and thrusting in at unpredictable intervals. Bucky wants to be useful, wants to be held, so he lets it happen. Each thrust into his mouth, each choking spasm of his throat, pushes him closer to the quiet, floating place at the back of his head. 

When Tony pulls him back, moving Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair instead of pulling out himself, Bucky doesn’t wait for him to command. He wraps the metal hand around the base of Tony’s cock, wet and hard, and strokes him fast. Tony shudders and comes, painting the bottom half of Bucky’s face, and the surface of his tongue, with spots of wet warmth. He stays still, tongue out, while Tony catches his breath, stares down at him with half-lidded eyes. 

Tony slides his thumb through the mess on Bucky’s chin, smearing it across his cheek. It’s slippery, and it's starting to cool and drip. Tony slides it back, pressing it against Bucky’s tongue, and he obediently cleans the digit, sucking it into his mouth and savoring the hitch in Tony’s breath as he does. He holds onto it for as long as he can, and when Tony pulls his thumb out, Bucky leans forward to clean off Tony’s soft cock as well as he can. 

He rolls his tongue over it and sinks down to hold it in his mouth. Tony’s fingers push his hair back, away from his face, and then fist into it again. 

“Well, at least I know you’re still good for _something_.” Tony says, breath still not quite returned to normal. He pulls Bucky in closer, fingers sliding across the sticky mess still covering his chin, smeared across his cheeks. He thumbs across Bucky’s lower lip, where it meets the root of his cock, and lets out a pleased sound, low and rough. 

Bucky floats there. He focuses on Tony’s cock, where it lies heavy over his tongue, as it slowly twitches and fills out again. He focuses on the little points of pain that come and go as Tony tugs his hair every once in a while, combing it back away from his face, and carding through it. He focuses on his knees on the kitchen tiles, the way they ached now. 

He doesn’t know how much time has past, when Tony starts to pull away, only that Tony’s cock is hard again, the tip pushing at his throat every once in a while, and Tony’s fingers are tight in his hair. Tony doesn’t move himself, he just pushes Bucky backward off of him. Bucky’s mouth is wet, full of saliva, and it hangs onto Tony’s cock, connecting them still, and sliding into the drying cum still spattered on his chin and cheeks. 

“There you are,” Tony almost coos, voice low and soothing, “are you ready now?” Bucky doesn’t respond. It’s not a question he has an answer to. He’s always ready, but he also has no concept of it. Tony smiles, still a little sharp around the edges. He pats Bucky’s cheek softly. 

“Come on. Up, over the counter.” Tony says. He steps back and gives Bucky room. Bucky isn’t steady, but he climbs to his feet anyways, faces the counter like he’s been taught. He leans over the kitchen island, fingers grasping the far edge of the countertop just tightly enough to hold on. 

Tony doesn’t follow right away, and Bucky can hear each deliberate footfall as he crosses the kitchen to the coffee maker to pour himself another cup. He sets it next to Bucky’s side on the counter and presses against him to pull Bucky’s pants open. 

It’s not entirely smooth, and Tony roughly yanks them down to mid-thigh before he drops them, turning to palm at Bucky’s ass instead. He squeezes both cheeks together, then pulls them apart, and Bucky’s breath hitches unconsciously. 

“Hush, just relax for me, Sugar,” Tony says, kneading the globes of Bucky’s ass. It’s actually kind of soothing, and Bucky closes his eyes, sinks into the drift again. He can feel Tony’s eyes on him, feel himself being watched, and it’s heavy. It’s more like a blanket than a burden though, and he lets himself sink into it. 

“That’s it, just relax for me. You’re doing so well.” Tony says, and Bucky hears the pop of a lid being opened, then the cold shock of something slippery over his hole. Tony slides one thick finger into him, pushing slowly but firmly past the ring of resistance. He wiggles it, and it feels huge inside of Bucky, perfect but not _enough_. 

“Just stay relaxed, sweetheart. Just be still and quiet for me.” Tony says, working another finger in beside the first. It’s torturously slow, the stretch, the push, and the pull. Bucky wants to push back into it, he wants to plead for more, for faster. Tony had asked him to be still though. To be quiet. To relax. He does that instead. 

They make it to four fingers before Tony pulls them out again, the muscles of Bucky’s hole trying to hold him inside desperately. Tony just makes another hushing sound, wordless and soothing, and there’s a long moment where Tony isn’t touching him at all. Bucky breaths. He can control his body, and Tony can direct him, and everything is going to be _fine._

He’s rewarded for his patience by the slide of something larger, something blunt and wet with lube, as Tony pushes inside. Tony makes a low, pleased noise as he slides in, a series of small thrusts. They send him in inch by inch, until he bottoms out, hips pressed tight against Bucky’s ass. Bucky feels full, stretched and overflowing. 

Tony goes slowly at first, not exactly gentle, but not brutal either, and he picks up speed as he moves. Bucky knows this is the weakest part, because he has no other memories to borrow from. He has porn, yeah, and the experimentation he’s done in the shower, with the door locked. He knows things are different now, that this was okay, but he still can’t quite bring himself to go seek this out. 

Bucky closes his eyes tight, holding on to the sensations he knows. The way he’s stretched, the shuddering pleasure as Tony brushes across his prostate. He fills in the parts he can guess at just fine as well, like the weight of Tony on top of him with each thrust, the steel grip of Tony’s fingers on his hips. He hopes it’s enough, that the memory won’t shatter here. 

It still never lasts as long as he’d like, and it always ends when he comes. This part of it ends, at least, and he keeps his eyes shut and his body still through the stuttering transition. One moment Tony is buried inside of him, the next Bucky is _empty_ , and Tony is pulling him down towards the floor. 

“There you are, darling. You were very good, James, very good for me.” Tony whispers it against the top of Bucky’s head, as Tony holds him close. “So very good.” 

This was odd, this second act. It wasn’t a thing Bucky would have chosen, but Friday had insisted that it was the correct way to end this type of scenario. He hadn’t argued then, too scared of Friday ratting him out if he did this _wrong_. Now, it might be his favorite part. Sure, the buildup and release of orgasm were great and all, but this was more than that. Bucky was still floaty and distant, and Tony holds him close and rocks them slowly, together. It’s peaceful. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Tony asks, and Bucky just nods into his chest. “No no, sugar. I need you to use words like a big boy for a minute here, okay? Tell me how you’re doing.” 

“M’fine” Bucky mumbles, soft and warm and floating, “M’jus tired.” 

“No, Sargent Barnes, you have to stay awake,” Tony says, and he shakes Bucky’s shoulders gently, but insistently. His voice sounds weird, layered and distorted, “You can’t sleep here, Sargent Barnes.” 

It was Friday. Bucky opened his eyes, and he was back in the basement of the compound, locked in the little storage room with the ridiculous memory machine and Friday. He slid the glasses off, the movement making him a little nauseous. The quick transition does that sometimes, but it was still worth it. 

“I hear you, Miss Friday.” Bucky tried not to grumble. He took a deep breath and tried to pull that calm feeling back over himself. Sometimes that worked, sometimes he could keep it going for hours afterward. “Thank you again, Miss Friday. I’ll come clean up in the morning if that’s alright.” 

“Don’t worry, Sargent Barnes. The bots will clean up, and I’ll shut everything down properly. I think maybe you should go to bed now.” Bucky knew Friday didn’t live in the ceiling, but he still smiled up at it like she did. He knew she’d see it. 

“I know, Miss Friday. Have a good night, and thanks for your help.” 

  


* * *

  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed, if you made it through. comments and kudos are amazing, constructive criticism is welcome. i wrote this over a few hours this morning, so be kind?
> 
> come yell at me on tunglr if you want. i'm [@ursweetheartless](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ursweetheartless)


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